Post by Bronx Valescence on Apr 13, 2016 20:42:19 GMT
It was the last place one would think he could be found. Usually, after a show he was on the first plane out of Japan and back to the United States. Or he would land just in time to get used to the time change to compete at the next show. But here he was, early. The morning sun was just peeking through the clouds. This time he wasn’t in a hotel room or a gym, but in the small room he stayed in many cots were on the floor. Most of their patrons had not gotten up out of the bed yet, only one man sat on the outside of the room with a white mug in his hand with his legs crossed and folded underneath one another.
It was indeed him, Bronx Valescence.
The match against Tara Davidson did not go as he had hoped, injured, hurt and now with a bruised ego. This is where he sat to clear his mind. The K-Dojo. Surprisingly the gaijin had been invited by someone who ran it who thought Bronx would indeed be able to help and be helped by the younger wrestlers who trained there. Bronx had arrived a few days early before the show—earlier than he would have. Slowly he pulled his tired legs up into his chest and sat there, taking in the sights, hearing the city come to life with the sunrise.
Where he sat on the back porch was peaceful, albeit a bit cool, he wore a zip up black Nike jacket with a pair of athletic shorts on his bottoms. The trees and shrubbery around the dojo made it seem like he were sitting somewhere in the mountains, but the sound of engines and horns some miles away told him different. Taking in the moment he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he dipped back into the cup of tea he had made—he was getting better at it. It was an acquired taste he had been told. Letting the tea settle beside him on its little saucer, it gently rattled as he lifted his hands back up and folded them together.
“I’ve been watching—waiting. I’ve been learning. Sometimes you are taught more in defeat than you do in victory. My match against Tara Davidson? It’s rather simple, really. I was hurt, but I’m not using that for an excuse. I don’t do that anymore. I don’t make excuses for losing. Last month, Davidson was the better woman—she is champion for a reason. At the end of the night, the fans weren’t chanting her name. They were chanting mine, because I want to make one thing clear for every single wrestler that steps through the goddamn door.”
Slowly he pointed a finger down into the wooden porch for emphasis since he didn’t really have anything to pound his fist on without waking up a bunch of sleeping lions.
“Bronx Valescence is the reason people tune in. I make the wheel go round. Win or lose, people look at this product because I’m in it. Plain and simple. I’ve lost before, I’ve lost big matches, I’ve lost meaningless matches and everywhere in between. I’m not like every other person who laces them up and steps into the ring. I am truly fearless. I am truly unbreakable, and regardless of what happens week in and week out. People pile in to see me in action.”
One could tell by the look upon his face that he believed what he said, there was something smug upon his lips but a smirk never cracked through the emotion.
“People make fun, people ask where I’m going to go from here, and the answer is simple. I will take Tara Davidson’s title from her. I will become the number one junior in this company, and I won’t stop until I do. But that isn’t this month. Now? I’m in another junior heavyweight showcase, and why? Because even though all of these people are going to filtering into NJFC for the tag tournament. There’s a reason I’m going to be going on next to last, it’s because even with all of these great names coming in. There’s only one that’s going to be standing out at the end of the night and that is me.”
He jammed a thumb into his chest.
“I get that originally this match was supposed to be me taking on Julian Savell, and that’s all well and good. Just like every match I’ve been in here it would probably be the best match on the show, but management decided to add Jordan Cisenaro. Hell, both Savell and Cisenaro have more credentials than me coming into this one, the difference is I don’t know who the hell they are, but I guarantee they know who Bronx Valescence is.”
Bronx turned his neck from side to side and his neck popped gently, probably from being thrown on his head so many times in the dojo over the last few days. His whole body was tender and sore, like a pulverized piece of meat he felt like sometimes he was held together by random pieces of tendon and ligaments.
“You lot can wear your championships you’ve won to the ring in companies past. All of the tag teams can come in and spout all of their accomplishments, but it doesn’t matter. I am the star of the show and that spotlight will shine the brightest down on me. I lost one match, but I am not losing two in a row. I don’t give a damn what the special prize is. It will be a prize enough for me to win, and get my hand raised over two supposed great---“
He paused for the moment as the phone at his other side lit up. Although he couldn’t really get text messages, the Wifi in the dojo was working fine, it was a DM from Twitter. Bronx picked it up and looked at it.
“We’ve just landed.”
The text read.
“Good.”
He replied back. A smile crossed his lips.
It was indeed him, Bronx Valescence.
The match against Tara Davidson did not go as he had hoped, injured, hurt and now with a bruised ego. This is where he sat to clear his mind. The K-Dojo. Surprisingly the gaijin had been invited by someone who ran it who thought Bronx would indeed be able to help and be helped by the younger wrestlers who trained there. Bronx had arrived a few days early before the show—earlier than he would have. Slowly he pulled his tired legs up into his chest and sat there, taking in the sights, hearing the city come to life with the sunrise.
Where he sat on the back porch was peaceful, albeit a bit cool, he wore a zip up black Nike jacket with a pair of athletic shorts on his bottoms. The trees and shrubbery around the dojo made it seem like he were sitting somewhere in the mountains, but the sound of engines and horns some miles away told him different. Taking in the moment he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before he dipped back into the cup of tea he had made—he was getting better at it. It was an acquired taste he had been told. Letting the tea settle beside him on its little saucer, it gently rattled as he lifted his hands back up and folded them together.
“I’ve been watching—waiting. I’ve been learning. Sometimes you are taught more in defeat than you do in victory. My match against Tara Davidson? It’s rather simple, really. I was hurt, but I’m not using that for an excuse. I don’t do that anymore. I don’t make excuses for losing. Last month, Davidson was the better woman—she is champion for a reason. At the end of the night, the fans weren’t chanting her name. They were chanting mine, because I want to make one thing clear for every single wrestler that steps through the goddamn door.”
Slowly he pointed a finger down into the wooden porch for emphasis since he didn’t really have anything to pound his fist on without waking up a bunch of sleeping lions.
“Bronx Valescence is the reason people tune in. I make the wheel go round. Win or lose, people look at this product because I’m in it. Plain and simple. I’ve lost before, I’ve lost big matches, I’ve lost meaningless matches and everywhere in between. I’m not like every other person who laces them up and steps into the ring. I am truly fearless. I am truly unbreakable, and regardless of what happens week in and week out. People pile in to see me in action.”
One could tell by the look upon his face that he believed what he said, there was something smug upon his lips but a smirk never cracked through the emotion.
“People make fun, people ask where I’m going to go from here, and the answer is simple. I will take Tara Davidson’s title from her. I will become the number one junior in this company, and I won’t stop until I do. But that isn’t this month. Now? I’m in another junior heavyweight showcase, and why? Because even though all of these people are going to filtering into NJFC for the tag tournament. There’s a reason I’m going to be going on next to last, it’s because even with all of these great names coming in. There’s only one that’s going to be standing out at the end of the night and that is me.”
He jammed a thumb into his chest.
“I get that originally this match was supposed to be me taking on Julian Savell, and that’s all well and good. Just like every match I’ve been in here it would probably be the best match on the show, but management decided to add Jordan Cisenaro. Hell, both Savell and Cisenaro have more credentials than me coming into this one, the difference is I don’t know who the hell they are, but I guarantee they know who Bronx Valescence is.”
Bronx turned his neck from side to side and his neck popped gently, probably from being thrown on his head so many times in the dojo over the last few days. His whole body was tender and sore, like a pulverized piece of meat he felt like sometimes he was held together by random pieces of tendon and ligaments.
“You lot can wear your championships you’ve won to the ring in companies past. All of the tag teams can come in and spout all of their accomplishments, but it doesn’t matter. I am the star of the show and that spotlight will shine the brightest down on me. I lost one match, but I am not losing two in a row. I don’t give a damn what the special prize is. It will be a prize enough for me to win, and get my hand raised over two supposed great---“
He paused for the moment as the phone at his other side lit up. Although he couldn’t really get text messages, the Wifi in the dojo was working fine, it was a DM from Twitter. Bronx picked it up and looked at it.
“We’ve just landed.”
The text read.
“Good.”
He replied back. A smile crossed his lips.